


Toxic Thoughts

by Carter_Casterwill



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Abuse, Enoshima Junko Being An Asshole, Enoshima Junko Being Enoshima Junko, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insane Children - Freeform, Mukuro really needs a hug, Warning: Enoshima Junko, expect it's really all just torture, no love, poor mukuro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22957105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carter_Casterwill/pseuds/Carter_Casterwill
Summary: She had to admit, it took Junko years to realize what she was doing.Continuation of Crocodile Tears, but could be read by itself.(TRIGGER WARNING TO THOSE WITH TORTURE, ABUSE, AND RAPE RELATED TRIGGERS.)
Relationships: Enoshima Junko & Ikusaba Mukuro
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Toxic Thoughts

She had to admit, it took Junko years to realize what she was doing. Sure, she knew that she wanted to manipulate her sister’s life to be a puppet in her hands. She knew that she loved the feeling that made her feel sick to her stomach. She knew it wasn’t normal to laugh and cry at the same time. She knew it wasn’t normal to enjoy watching someone writhing and twisting in pain. She knew it wasn’t normal to know multiple ways to kill someone without leaving a mark and she knew it wasn’t normal to know how to torture someone into submission. And yet, even with all that knowledge, she didn’t realize that she herself wasn’t normal.

Junko first noticed it when she was hiding in her bedroom, playing with her dolls by herself. Her games were almost always played by herself. At ten years old, no one but her understood the concept of death. And that’s why whenever she played, her dolls always died. Sometimes she would drag her sister into her games with her and that was always more fun. And yet, today, Mukuro was still at school, catching up on lessons that she just didn’t understand. It was one of those sad days, one of the boring ones, where she just didn’t know what to do. Her mother was home and Junko was reminded of that when she came up to her room. She didn’t notice at first, moving her stuffed bear around, a chalk-white thing that had been well-loved to patches of gray, to each of her dolls, giving each and every one of them a different voice. The American Barbie doll with a British accent, believing she was better than the rest. The plastic baby with a whiney voice, begging for things to be done her way. The doll with the sweet Lolita dress and twisty pink hair got the high pitched, cutesy voice that always seemed overly energetic. The bear got a lower, nasally voice that giggled a lot. And of course, there was the doll with the black hair that up until last year had been her sister’s. That doll was the center of attention, the victim of a cult ritual. She had only died moments before and she had an overly boring voice. She didn’t really matter, not in Junko’s mind. It was better that she was dead. She had been a background character and her death moved the nonsense plot forward.

Only when her mother cleared her voice did she realize she was being watched. With a more annoyed look than shocked, she turned to look over at her mother, hugging the bear to her chest and folding her legs over each other, tilting her head in such a way that her other twin tale fell behind her back. She heard her mother ask what she was playing so she explained it. She explained everything. She pointed out the dolls and who they were, minus the victim in the middle of the floor. She explained the plot and what was happening. Then, her mother mentioned the doll in the middle of the floor and asked who she was, the concern clear in her voice. “Oh, that’s Muku-nee’s doll. She’s not important. That’s why the cult killed her.” Junko watched the shock and the fear flash in her mother’s eyes. She knew that her mother was worried about her now. She asked why she had decided to have to cult kill her, but Junko only shrugged in response. It had never really crossed her mind. Her mother sighed and sat down across from her, calmly explaining that this was not a game that she should be playing. It was the same talk as it always was. The talk that people gave her when they didn’t think she understood what she was doing. She zoned out while her mother went through the typical lector, telling her why she needed to be nice to people. Then, she asked again why she picked Mukuro’s doll to be the one to die. Was there something about it that she didn’t like? “That’s easy. Because she was boring. Just like Mukuro.”

Junko was grounded from playing dolls for a month after that.

The next time she noticed she wasn’t normal was when they were at school. She was sitting in class, her leg bouncing up and down. She didn’t understand how people could sit down for this long. All she wanted to do was get up and move. Yet, she knew that if she did that, she would get in trouble. She glanced around the room at the rest of the kids in her class before meeting her sister’s eyes for a second. Mukuro gave her a pitying look, one that Junko returned with a face. She didn’t need her sister’s pity. She just needed the class to be over. That would have been the best thing that could happen. Yet, she still had to wait until lunch break and recess to get up and move around. She guessed she could always draw or something, but she didn’t really know what else she could possibly draw. After all, she’d been drawing all morning. She slumped over in her desk, only to get hit in the head with a piece of paper. Annoyed, she first checked to see if the teacher was looking. When she confirmed that the attention of the person had been claimed by the chalkboard, she turned to look for the person who threw it at her. Scooping up the note, she made eye contact with a boy not that far from her. She shot him a small glare and unfolded the letter.  _ Think I found a way to unadopt a child. Thought your parents might want to know.  _ Anger flashed through her eyes. Even though she knew that it wasn’t possible, the words still made her mad. Hissing through her teeth, she mumbled a few curses at him, crumbling the paper back up and rising to her feet, throwing it right back at his head.

It was at that point in time, that the teacher turned back around. With a groan, Junko heard her name get called out and she turned away from her target, listening to him whine about it out of her right ear. She was getting another lector, she knew it. The way that her teacher’s mouth moved was the same that it moved whenever she got in trouble. And yet, she couldn’t hear it. All she could do was think about how much she wanted to rip that boy’s throat out. And then, she got moved to the front of the room, next to her sister and all of the rest of the slower learners and troublemakers. Even though she hadn’t done anything wrong. Not really, anyway. He had started it after all. And he deserved to have the paper thrown back at him. He shouldn’t have thrown it in the first place. Most of all, he certainly shouldn’t have said that about her. That’s why during lunch and recess, Mukuro kept her outside. That way, she wouldn’t be able to kill him, even though she really wanted too. And when her father asked her why she had done it, the answer was simple. “Because he was being a bitch, that’s why.”

Of course, that wouldn’t be the last time it happened. The third time that she noticed, Junko had been getting pushed around a lot at school because she was adopted, or so she thought that was the reason. For the longest time, they teased and taunted her about being sent back, about her parents not wanting her anymore, and she always thought it was because she had been adopted. Until one day, one day where Mukuro was actually smarter than her. It was the one day that it had happened and while Junko knew it would be the last, it didn’t mean that it didn’t bother her. Because on that day, when their father asked Mukuro how school was going, she had said “The other kids won’t stop making fun of Junko because she’s different. They keep saying that you don’t want her anymore because of it.” And then it clicked. It wasn’t because she was adopted that they hated her. Mukuro was adopted and she seemed to make it throughout the day without getting teased for it. Mukuro only got teased because she was an idiot. No, she got made fun of because she was different. She wasn’t normal. And so, mad for more reasons than one, she said, “How come I’m being teased if Muku-nee clearly isn’t as important as I am?” 

Junko got grounded to the house for a month after that.

As if that really stopped her from hurting her sister. That night, she was running down to the bathroom to collect bandages and peroxide for her sister’s wounds, small giggles and quiet sobs escaping her faster than she could process what was happening. She couldn’t quite comprehend what she had just done and she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to react. Her sister had twisted and gory and beautiful marks covered her body now and she wasn’t sure whether she should be shouting for joy or screaming in terror at what she had done. That’s why she was so silent. She didn’t need to speak. Her mind was doing it for her. The little voices inside her head bantered back and forth, trying to control her emotions. So, instead of just picking one, she had all of them. And she liked it. She liked how it felt. Her stumbling around in the bathroom to find the bandages was proof of that. Her hands trembled with such intensity that sometimes, it took her more than three times to open a door. Her tears ran down her face faster than she could wipe them off and her giggles were far quicker. She was a mess. The crying mess that she made herself every night. The terror and the fear and the joy and the excitement were more than enough to send her mind through the best rollercoaster in the world.

She stumbled back upstairs and to the roof, where Mukuro’s confused and twisted cries filled her ears again. After she made it to Mukuro’s side, she climbed back onto her sister’s lap and lean down, giving her a light kiss on the cheek. “You’re so good. You know that? So, so good.” She continued to gently whisper to her, starting to clean up her wounds. Mukuro couldn’t form words any more, her body contorting and jerking every time the peroxide touched one of her cuts. Her broken cries were music to Junko’s ear and she had to wipe the tears from her eyes to make her vision clear again. Once she was finished, she felt her sister start to calm down, the cloudy look in her eyes slowly disappearing. Her breathing, while still very labored, was starting to even out, even if she was still bleeding. She knew for a fact that Mukuro couldn’t feel anything, but maybe that was a lie she had been told? Mukuro had told her that she was unable to feel anything when she did this, even if she did scream and cry for it to end. It was like her brain moved faster then her nerves and it left her to play catch up. In her head, she knew she should be in pain, so she acted like she was. Even with that knowledge, it was still enough to bring Junko to tears. She hugged herself around her stomach and started to cry. Her voices finally stopped arguing in her head and she finally realized what she did.

Mukuro reached up and pulled her into a hug, pulling her down onto her newly destroyed chest and stomach. Junko wailed, her ten year old mind trying to comprehend what her voices told her to do, what her voices made her do. The British voice, believing that it was better than the rest. The whiney voice, begging for things to be done their own way. The high pitched, cutesy voice that always seemed overly energetic about everything. The lower, nasally voice that giggled a lot, laugh at all the things that brought her pain. The overly boring voice who couldn’t stand to be around anyone. They all fought in her brain, against her own childish voice, telling her things that she shouldn’t even know about it. She sniffled and cried, screaming and wailing, trying to forget the things that she had done. Mukuro hugged her tightly, stroking her hair and rubbing her back, trying her best to soothe her. Her pain seemingly was forgotten and she was doing her best to calm her down. That was her role as big sister and that’s what Junko loved about her. No matter what happened, she would do anything to be right by her side. That’s why she was still here. That’s why she was the only one to understand her. “Mu...Muku-nee? I-If I ask for he-help, w-would you he-help me?” Mukuro only hugged her tighter, rolling onto her side to pull her closer to her. She promised, in soft, broken whispers, that no matter what happened, she would do anything to help her. They were sisters, after all. Nothing mattered more than their relationship. If they didn’t have each other, then they had nothing at all.

Still, even though she asked her sister’s help with her demons, Junko still didn’t quite get that it wasn’t normal. Sure, she fought constantly with herself and her voice, panicking when they started to take over. They would lash out at time, gaining control over her thoughts and actions, but not quite her words. Those were still hers, for now. There were nights that she was frozen in her bed, crying for someone to pull her out of the hell that she was being put in. It didn’t matter what time of day it was, Mukuro would always come to her rescue, with or without their parents. Even if their parents come in, Mukuro got defensive and didn’t let them touch her, not until she was okay with it. She’d pull Junko into her arms and hold her close until Junko stopped shaking in her arms and her violent sobs turned normal. Only then did she let their parents hold her, but Mukuro never left her side. She was loyal till the end. Junko knew that. Still, she never felt safer in anyone else’s arms, never felt her nerves fade the way her sister’s voice coaxed them too. Their parents couldn’t hold a candle to the way Mukuro made her feel safe.

She heard them talk, of course. She knew that they talked about her a lot. At first, it was only paranoia. Everytime they were alone, she could have sworn that they talked about her. But it was only paranoia. Until Mukuro confirmed it for her one day. Yes, they were talking about her. Yes, they thought she was going insane. Yes, they were thinking about putting her into therapy or other forms of mental help. No, they didn’t want to get rid of her. Yet, she would always think to herself. They didn’t want to get rid of her yet. But still, she felt the same way she did when she was three, clinging onto Mukuro’s hand tightly while they tried to navigate Japan in the snow with only their fall jackets. She felt lost and even if she had only been a baby then, she certainly knew that the feelings hadn’t changed. She felt like she was drowning, the same way she felt when they had hid in the dark in the alley next to an apartment and she was freezing as the snow piled up around them. She felt the same fear she had felt when she huddled closer to Mukuro and closed her eyes, her toddler mind understanding the severity of the situation. And then, she felt nothing. The same way she had felt when she heard her sister screeching about something, when people had come to help them. It was the same nothing that she was feeling now as she felt herself on the edge of another breakdown.

“You won’t leave me, right? I dunno what I’d do without you, Muku-nee.” It was the same question she asked everyday, the same one that was always on her mind. She couldn’t lose her sister, her best friend. Her only friend. They only had each other. They knew that better than anyone. It was the same thing they had known when they were on their own for weeks, wandering around the streets of Japan, doing their best to look out for one another. It was the same thing they had known when they were bouncing between foster homes, wondering how long it was going to be until someone wanted them. And it was the same thing they had known when they found that home, meeting their parents for the first time and realizing that they now had a place to stay forever. They were together forever, whether fate keep them that way physically or not. Junko was too scared to believe that one day, she might be abandoned. She knew that it was so easy to push people away and make them leave. She could only hope that she didn’t do that to her sister, her dear sister whom she loved more than she loved life itself. That’s why she showed it to her in the only way she knew how too, by hurting her. 

Then, one day, she took it too far. She’d gotten back from her first modeling in a dazed mess. The world was foggy and slow, moving hurt and the lights gave her a headache. She was on the verge of tears and she loved it. And now, the voices in her head were pushing her to try something she’d never thought about before. They convinced her that she loved to hurt and she did. She learned that she did. It was easy, it was fun, and it was entertaining. More than that, it excited her, even if she did spend hours crying herself to sleep after that. She was silent on her way home, staring out the window and receiving concerned looks from her mother. Her mother knew that she was never silent. She must have known that nothing good was happening in her brain. That’s why she turned on the soothing music that they thought might help. It never did anything but calm the war in her mind to simple talking. She was going to do it tonight, she knew that she had too. She wouldn’t live until she gave it a try. To do something so inhuman and sick to the person she cared the most about… She was getting chills just thinking about that. What was stopping her anyway? She had just learned that she had her sister’s life in her hands. With a few simple words, she could force Mukuro into anything, whether it be letting her starve, having her fight a bully, or even hurt herself. She could make her do anything, even if the tears and the begging came with it. All it took was a couple crocodile tears and Mukuro would do anything without complaint.

Maybe that’s why she decided to do it. Maybe that’s why she told Mukuro to meet her on the roof. Maybe that’s why she gave her the impression that things were fine. She just wanted to try. She was curious, after all. Was it really as awful as they made it out to seem? Was it so insane that it could break people’s minds and push them past the breaking point? Is that why she wanted to try it so badly? Did she want to see her sister break? Did she want to see her suffer? Was she really so different that she wanted to push her sister off the edge of the cliff that was her mind and send her into the numbing feeling that was the despair she craved so much? The idea of it seemed too unreal until they were on the roof and it was completely silent, Mukuro waiting patiently for her next orders. A perfectly trained lap dog. That was something she’d learned the other day in Japanese class. A dog who was trained to do whatever it’s master told it to do. That’s all her sister had been reduced too, a frightened dog who still seemed to find a way to love her. She didn’t know how, but she knew what she wanted to do next. Maybe that’s really why she wanted to do this. Maybe she wanted to force her sister away from her, push her over to edge so far that she would just have to leave. Maybe she really did want that because if Junko knew one thing, it was that she hated hurting her sister. But that’s what the voices in her head told her to do and they were her closest friends now, even though they fought all the time. So maybe she just needed to protect her sister.

Regardless of the reason, Junko’s memories of the night she raped her sister were reduced to visions of a red faced, screaming Mukuro who couldn’t do more than beg for it to be over. At first, Junko hadn’t know what she was doing, so Mukuro hadn’t really had a reason to panic. But once Junko started to understand how it worked, once Mukuro started to figure it out, her sister’s screams didn’t stop. It was chaos. Junko bawled, trying hard not to reel away and vomit. She felt sick to her stomach, her mind was fuzzy, and she couldn’t get enough of her sister’s screams. More than that, she craved them. She thrived off of them. They were the best things she had heard in a long time. Nevermind her sister’s twisted form and the way her body convulsed. It was the screaming she enjoyed but it was also the screaming that made her absolutely disgusted with herself. Never, not since they first started the tortures, did she hear her sister voice sound as broken as it did now. Never had she heard Mukuro beg like she was now, asking for it to be over. She watched her sister pull against imaginary bonds, stuck to their place by the glue of her mind, as she violated Mukuro’ body in such a way that ten-year-olds shouldn’t even know about yet. She was laughing, Junko knew she was. But she was also crying. She cried more than she ever had before. And only when it was over did she pull away and vomit, choking as she tried to catch the breath she had lost. She felt sweaty and gross and she cried, curling up in a ball as small as she could get. This time, Mukuro didn’t come to comfort her and she didn’t deserve it. What she deserved was to be thrown off the roof and smashed to pieces on the ground. But that didn’t happen either. No, she was left alone with her thoughts and her voices and her sister’s broken cries as she tried to comprehend what had just happened to her. But it was over now and it was everything she thought it was going to be and more. Did she regret it? Of course but would she do it all over again? In a heartbeat. Junko had never felt more self-hatred and pure joy than she had before now. And when she awoke one morning of the following week to find her sister missing, no note or anything, she couldn’t have been met with a more bittersweet reaction. Sure, Mukuro was gone and she had left her like she promised she never would, but she would be back. She had run off to join that military group and Junko couldn’t believe that she was being left for that, even if her intention had been to drive her away in the first place. Still, she swore that when Mukuro came back, because of course she would (she had made a promise after all), she would make her regret ever leaving. That was the promise she made to herself to hold out the hope that Mukuro would eventually end up coming back. Of course she would.

Until then, her toxic thoughts would keep her company.


End file.
